The Right Wedding Gown

by Shirley Hailstock

  “Let me show you.” His mouth dropped onto hers. Arms, with the strength of steel bands, circled her waist and pulled her into the rock-solid wall of his body. Samara groaned as spasms of need and pleasure rocketed through her. Justin’s tongue ventured deeply into her mouth and she welcomed his invasion. Her arms found their way around his neck. Going up on tiptoes, her head lolled back as Justin deepened the kiss.

  Never had Samara felt like this, as if the ground was no longer beneath her feet, as if she were floating, dancing in the middle of a room with no ceiling and no floor. Samara’s hands roamed over his shoulders and arms. She wanted to be closer, feel his skin, relish in the luster of fire and ice, heat and cold, silk and wool.

  In moments she was tearing at his shirt, pulling it free and running her fingers under the expensive fabric. Justin’s hands curled at the hem of her shirt and ran upward to her breasts. As they found her nipples and teased them into a taut life, she shuddered with delight.

  “This is crazy,” she muttered to herself.

  “I know,” Justin answered. “But it’s a phenomenal kind of crazy.”

  Phenomenal wasn’t the word for it, Samara thought. There was no word to describe how she was feeling, how Justin was making her feel, drawing out emotions she thought were dead or asleep. He’d awakened them and they were screaming for fulfillment.

  Samara pulled her mouth free. Air rushed into her lungs like she’d opened a vacuum. She didn’t want to release the claim he had on her movements, but the need to breathe forced her to break from him. His mouth was hot and seeking and she wanted nothing more than to allow the pleasurable assault to continue.

  “Come,” she whispered. Taking his hand, she led him to the bedroom. The covers on the bed were rumpled where she’d been sleeping, but the other side was as untouched as it had been when she made it that morning.

  But things had changed.

  Justin turned her into his arms and found her mouth. All thought left Samara’s mind except the delicious syrup that flowed over her at his touch.

  “I hope you have a condom,” she said against his mouth.

  “Never leave home without it,” he teased.

  He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it high in the air. Samara took only a moment to watch it floating upward. Her hands were busy with the buttons on his shirt. In moments they were undressed and reaching for each other. Justin’s hands smoothed down her back and over her hips. Samara shuddered as tiny firecrackers exploded under her skin. Arching her back and pressing herself closer to him, she felt every inch of his dark skin. And it made her aggressive, brazen even.

  She wrapped her right leg around his left one and shimmied up and down his body. Lightning sparked between them like a live wire snapping in the rain. Samara kissed his shoulders and proceeded across his chest. She felt his breathing accelerate, heard the thump of his heart as it boomed against her mouth. Big hands cupped her buttocks and pushed her against his erection. Her head fell back and she cried out as erotic sensations racked her.

  Justin lowered her to the bed. His mouth kissed her lips, her chin, her cheeks. His hands massaged her sides and skimmed over her breasts which sat at attention waiting for his discovery. Time seemed to speed up as they traded touch for touch, kiss for kiss, caress for caress.

  As suddenly as a dam breaking, their need exploded. They fought for dominance, each desperate in pursuit of the other. Justin’s mouth was wild on hers. Hunger, that of a starving man, pressed her into the mattress. With lightning speed, Justin retrieved the condom and protected them.

  Before she had time to feel the coolness of the air between them, he was with her. He looked down at her, skimming her features as his eyes traveled over her. She felt no shame. No nakedness. She wanted him to look, wanted him to touch her with his eyes, to feel his hands forming her skeleton, covering her muscles and planing her skin.

  Inside her anticipation built until she thought she’d burst. Justin must have understood. Moving his legs over hers, he entered her. She thought she was prepared for the entry-rapture, for that shocking burst of pleasure their joining produced. But the burst was a crescendo, a powerful drug that surged through her as if it had been gathered from past ages and delivered full force at this one moment.

  Her legs locked around his hips, capturing him in her own personal prison. Together they danced the primal dance of life, of love, of a need so strong it created worlds. Samara was incapable of holding anything back. Her body was totally involved and totally his for the taking. She thrust it upon him, giving what he gave, taking what she wanted, abandoning anything except the insatiable need that pushed her onward, the raw power of her body’s desire.

  Inside her rolled timeless waves, shattering vortices, cataclysmic volcanoes changed her, reformed her into another being until, with a final cry, she crashed back to the present.

  Her breath was strangled, harsh, mingling with Justin’s as they both forced oxygen into lungs that craved it. The room spun for Samara. She could discern nothing. They’d been carried somewhere else, created another setting that was theirs alone. Slowly the spinning returned her to surroundings she recognized.

  She still carried Justin’s weight. Like a heavy blanket, he covered her, keeping her warm and connected to him in the most intimate way. Running her hands over his back, she found him warm and moist with the dew of sex. The room snapped with the aftermath of their coming.

  “That was fantastic,” he said, sliding to her side and pulling her against him as if he didn’t want to separate yet. Samara didn’t.

  “It was,” she agreed. His lovemaking was like none she’d experienced in the past. She wasn’t sure she’d ever find another to equal him.

  Running his hand over her face, he pushed her hair back and smiled at her in the semidarkness.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion. “I knew you would be.”

  His eyes closed then and he slept. Samara watched him. He was beautiful, too. More than she ever thought possible. He had held her like a doll that could break, then made love to her as if he never wanted to stop.

  She brushed his face with her hand, feeling the five-o’clock stubble on his chin. She kissed his lips, cradled him to her and let the sensations that racked through her have free rein.

  The Washington of yesterday is not the Washington of today. Justin got out of his car whistling. No day could be more perfect than this one. And tomorrow had all the earmarks of being perfect, too.

  The night he’d spent in Samara’s arms, the love they had made, was beyond anything he’d experienced before—or could even hope for.

  Mac Grier waved at him as he reached the street.

  “What are you doing here?” Justin asked.

  “An early interview on the Hill. I thought I’d walk,” Mac answered.

  “Anything interesting going on?” Justin asked. Mac was an anchor on the news. His crew would already be setting up and whomever he was interviewing had to be important.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  Justin knew “ordinary” in Washington was never ordinary. He had his own position at OEO to tell him that. He dealt with emergencies that were international incidents in the making. Occasionally he had to intervene when Americans acted stupidly in overseas situations by buying or selling drugs and getting caught. Mostly, he was involved with the political arena, keeping the cold war cold. Most people thought the war ended with the fall of the Soviet Union, but all it did was trade one set of problems for another.

  Still, this morning, Justin whistled.

  “You’re in a good mood,” Mac said.

  “It’s a great day,” Justin remarked. Forget that it was hot and humid and promised to be worse as the sun rose higher in the sky. Justin was too happy to care.

  “Finally get lucky?” Mac teased.

  “I do not kiss and tell.”

  “You did get lucky.”

  It had to be written on his face. There was no way of c
oncealing it from the world. He was in love and he didn’t care who knew.

  “Well, at least tell me her name. Is it my sister-in-law?”

  Justin said nothing. For the time being he wanted to remain inside a fantasy world, one that he and Samara occupied.

  “Maybe I should have Cinnamon invite the two of you down for the weekend.”

  “Your interview must be waiting,” Justin said. With a handshake, he turned onto Seventeenth Street and started whistling again.

  Samara punched the power button on the CD player at the same time she kicked her heels off from a day at work. She felt like dancing. Tina Turner’s rendition of Private Dancer started to play. All day long Samara had thought of Justin and their night together. Nothing else could hold her attention and several times she’d had to be asked questions twice.

  She sang along with Tina and danced about the room in her stocking feet. She wondered if this was how her sister felt when she was falling in love with her husband?

  Samara stopped. Falling in love? Husband?

  That wasn’t it, she told herself. It’s just been a while since she had the attentions of a man. She switched off the CD player, no longer interested in the song or the dance.

  While she liked Justin, enjoyed his company and the way he made her feel, she was not falling for him. And marriage! What was she thinking? She knew that was not for her.

  Chapter 6

  “This is a surprise,” Diana said as Samara entered her office. “What gets you up here?”

  Diana’s office was on the top floor of one of the many office buildings in the Crystal City complex across the Potomac in Virginia.

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  “Sure you were,” Diana countered. “The Archives is right around the corner.”

  “Well, I wasn’t in the neighborhood, but I’m here now.”

  “I’m about done here. Why don’t we go somewhere and eat and talk?”

  Diana’s desk was cluttered with storyboards and papers. In the corners sat large mock-ups of ads for lipstick, toothpaste, designer gowns. Her phone constantly rang and she was directing an entire orchestra of details.

  “Are you sure?”

  Diana nodded. “It never ends. It’ll be here tomorrow.”

  Diana got up and slipped her arms into the white suit jacket that hung on the back of her chair. Not far from her office was a score of different restaurants, each with different ethnicities and different types of food. Diana had often stated that New York only thought it had the United Nations. Virginia really had it. They settled on Thai food and were seated at low tables among a color scheme of red and black.

  Diana waited until the waiter brought their food before asking, “What is it?”

  “What?”

  “The real reason you happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  Samara took a drink of the wine they’d ordered. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “Greg.”

  “My Greg?”

  Samara nodded. Diana had met her fiancé, Gregory McKnight, two years ago at a party. Greg was an economist and worked for the Treasury Department.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Are you sure he’s the one?” Samara asked.

  “Absolutely,” Diana said without hesitation.

  “The statistics aren’t with you,” Samara argued.

  “Statistics? I’m not going to run my life by statistics. Honestly, Samara, you’ve been cooped up in that dungeon way too long.”

  The “dungeon” was what Diana called the subbasement workrooms where the rare documents were stored and restored.

  “What’s happened? I know you like Greg and that you’re not against me marrying him. So what has caused you to think about statistics and whether he’s the right one? Who is your he?”

  Samara took a deep breath. “I don’t have a he. I’ve just been wondering lately. A lot of my friends are married or getting married.” She paused and looked at the huge rock on Diana’s left hand. “And since Cinnamon also took the plunge, I find myself wondering…”

  “What happened to ‘a lot of my friends are divorced’?” she mocked. “The statistics thing? The I’ll-never…” Diana suddenly stopped. “It’s Justin. What happened?”

  Samara put her hands up. “Diana, don’t jump the gun.”

  “You’re falling for him,” she stated.

  “I am not.”

  “What happened the other night? The August Wilson play?”

  “I got to the Kennedy Center and Justin met me. But as soon as we got to our seats, he got a call and he was gone.”

  “Again!”

  She nodded. “But he came by last night.”

  “And something happened.” Again it was a statement.

  “More than something.”

  “So, you are falling for him?”

  Samara thought about it. The question had been at the back of her mind since she woke up in his arms. It wasn’t a “morning after” she wanted. She wanted him around longer. But she wasn’t sure that was possible. He’d already proven unreliable more than once. Should she forget about a relationship before it got started?

  “I think I am,” Samara finally said.

  Samara was sure the housework gene was missing from her set of forty-six chromosomes, but no one seeing her cleaning her apartment would believe that. She’d totally redone the bedroom, even to the point of moving some of the furniture around. Justin had been in that room. His imprint was there. She needed to make it different, remove him from the surroundings.

  It was strange, Samara thought as she scrubbed the kitchen cabinets with oil soap, that this much effort was necessary for a man she hadn’t known for more than a few months. They’d met a couple of years ago, but she really didn’t know him, had consciously avoided getting to know him. And now she felt the need to work him out of her life.

  By five in the afternoon she was done, exhausted and grimy. And she was angry.

  Why hadn’t he called? They’d spent the night together, awakened in each other’s arms. He’d said he would call. She remembered the two of them entwined in each other’s arms and heat swept through her like a wildfire. She had to get him out of her thoughts and out of her life. She would call and tell him not to come, that she wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  She lifted the phone and punched in his number, but replaced the receiver before it rang. She wouldn’t do it on the phone. It was cowardly. She needed to face him and tell him this was not a road she wished to travel. It was better that way, for both of them, better to not get involved.

  Throwing herself back into cleaning, she dusted and polished all the tables. When she finished, the phone did ring. Her heart lurched. Forcing herself not to rush, she walked quickly to the phone and answered. She tried not to sound disappointed when she heard Diana’s voice with her fiancé talking in the background.

  “What are you doing?” Diana asked.

  “Cleaning, why?”

  “I want to see the gown,” Diana said.

  “What?”

  “The one you found in the trunk. Carmen says it’s beautiful. So I thought I’d like to see it in case I want one that resembles it or want to take it off your hands. If not, maybe Geri can use it in the fashion show. Mind if I come look?”

  “Come on over.”

  “See you in a bit.” She hung up.

  Samara looked at the clock. It was after five o’clock and Justin still hadn’t called.

  Samara was glad she was ending her relationship with Justin anyway.

  Going to the bathroom, she turned on the shower. Maybe he was called to work again, she rationalized as she stepped under the spray.

  Samara grabbed the shampoo and poured a liberal amount over her hair. She scrubbed it into each strand, lathering it into a froth, then scrubbing her scalp with her fingers. She didn’t know how long she did that before allowing the water to rinse away the suds.

  Wrapped in a
large towel, she left the bathroom. The trunk with the wedding gown sat against the wall. Samara hesitated only a moment before going to it and lifting the lid. The dress waited like a sentinel. She picked it up and stared at it. Then, impulsively, she took it to the bedroom, threw it on the bed and searched for suitable underwear. When clothed, she stepped into the dress.

  Lightning didn’t strike.

  But when she turned around and stared in the mirror, her mouth dropped open. The dress was beautiful and it made her look beautiful, too. She admired herself, turning one way and then the other. She buttoned all the buttons and looked at her back again. And at that moment the house phone rang.

  “Your guest is here,” the clerk said.

  “Send them up,” she said.

  Diana had brought Greg with her. Didn’t she know it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her gown. Well, Diana wouldn’t be in the gown. And Greg could always wait in the living room. Samara rushed to the door when the bell rang. Yanking it open, her arms spread to model the gown, she froze in place when she recognized Justin standing there, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and an expression on his face that went from surprise to incredulity.

  She wanted to slam the door closed, but she was unable to move.

  “I—Justin…” She could think of nothing to say. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “I see,” he said, looking her up and down.

  “I mean…you didn’t call.”

  “I know. I got tied up at work.”

  Samara felt relieved. For an awkward moment they stood there.

  “These are for you.” He thrust the flowers at her. “I’ll leave.”

  “No,” she said too quickly to her own ears. “Come on in.”

  He walked in cautiously.

  “This is the dress that was in the trunk.” She turned for his approval.

  “A wedding gown. Well, you look gorgeous,” he said, staring at her and shaking his head. Even though the gesture was negative, the communication was totally positive. He walked around her, taking in all details of the gown. “Why are you wearing it? You aren’t getting married, are you?”